


To Marry a Bastard

by kee_writestrashh



Series: The Bastard's Boys [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, Drugs, F/M, Gangs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kink, No shame, Obsessions, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Prequel, Ramsay is his own warning, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Shameless Smut, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Violence, gangs of westeros, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee_writestrashh/pseuds/kee_writestrashh
Summary: Prequel to Guns for HireBefore there were the Bastard's Bitches, the Black Sheep, the Wicked Ones, and the Red King's to worry about there was only the Bastard's Boys. Before there was a bun in the oven there was a possessive, obsessive love. There was raw emotion. There was a rowdy group of men who frequented a small, hole in wall, bar....There was something evil behind that smirk. But there was also something needing and wanting behind those cold blue eyes.





	1. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SNEAK PEAK!!!!!!!! ;)

"How was the gym?" Damon asked, falling into the couch across from Ramsay.

"Shit. Fucked up my shoulder again." Ramsay hummed, finishing off his glass of whiskey and lighting a cigarette.

"Mm. I think you do it on purpose. Like the pain." Damon smirked, pulling a bag of marijuana from his pocket and sitting up to grab the Playboy magazine and rolling papers off the coffee table.

"It is pretty sweet. But nah, I keep hoping that maybe it will all just click again and I can beat the fuck out of Snow." Ramsay sighed, watching Damon break up a bud.

"So I was at the bar last night and that one chick was there..." Damon said rather slyly.

Ramsay tutted, rolling his eyes.

"She's pretty fuckin' hot dude. For sure not from the city. She got a mean right hook too. Should of seen her knock this big guy out. He had to be Ben's size at least." Damon said animatedly as he rolled a joint.

"You keep talkin' about this bitch like I give a fuck. I'm not going to settle down. I'm not going to get married. Perfect little Dom carries all that weight. Him and his whore ass wife. I'm just the freak show of the family. I don't have time. Father has me working my ass off. Got a mile long list of rats and trash to take out." He said, reaching forward to pour another glass of whiskey.

"Rams, get off your little high horse and stop. Like seriously. Do you ever stop and think about anything? At least come down there with me." Damon said, his smug, high grin fading into a serious frown.

He snorted, "since when did you care about my love life, Dame?"

"Since you did. I see the way you calculate every woman who speaks to you. I see the disgust. Come on man. Just give her a look over."

"Fine, fine. But if she's a fucking stupid whore, I'm going to kill her and then you." 

"Bet." Damon said, leaning over the coffee table and holding his pinky out.

"Dude, how old are you again?" He asked, with the usual smirk, taking Damon's pinky in his.

"Almost twenty four. But we are forever fucking twelve, Darth Vader." Damon grinned, placing the unlit joint down, standing, and pulling his keys from his pocket.

"As you will, Iron Man." He sighed, setting his glass down and following Damon out of the apartment.

"Dude, quit messing with my shit." Damon hissed fixing his seat belt and slapping Ramsay's hand away from the radio.

"You listen to gay shit." Ramsay retorted.

"No. I listen to rad shit. You're just an angry fuck who likes to think he don't like my music." Damon quipped.

"You're lucky I like you." Ramsay huffed, crossing his arms and staring out of the window. It was a misty night. Maybe good to find someone in the alley.

"Maybe it's  _you_ who's lucky you like me." Damon laughed.

"Maybe." Ramsay smirked.

Ramsay glanced over at Damon and took him in. His wild curls and permanently glazed eyes. He felt a sudden fondness for his best friend. Or... well, guess it really was the only word Ramsay had to describe Damon. The word friend was a word that left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Ramsay Bolton didn't have ' _friends_ '. Ramsay had men that worked for him. But what were the Bastard's Boys then? They really were more than just employees to him. Though, he would never admit it. They all held a special place with him. But Damon. He was like a brother. Maybe brother was a better word than friend. The Boys weren't friends. They were family. And family was important.

But Damon was most important. Ramsay had met Damon when they were five. He was in the other kindergarten class at the school they went to. One sunny afternoon at recess Ramsay had been sitting on the swing watching a bigger kid pick on a much smaller kid. For whatever reason Ramsay had felt compelled to step in and confront the bully. It had ended in bloody noses, busted lips, black eyes, and sitting in the principal's office waiting on parents to show up.

Roose had beat Ramsay when they had gotten home. It was unjust in Ramsay's eyes. To be punished for doing the right thing. But That wasn't how Roose saw anything from Ramsay.

Ramsay had always felt like his father hated him, and he was never sure why. Even now at 24 he still had no idea. Not that it mattered anymore, but it was a haunting thought.

Ramsay had grown up in hell. It was the only way he could have described it if anyone ever asked. But they would never know. And he would never tell. No one was important enough to ever let in. No one except Damon.

Ramsay couldn't describe the affection he felt for the man sitting next to him. He hated it honestly. To have actual feelings for something. Especially when the therapists screamed he was incapable of legitimate feelings. He was a user, a manipulator, and toxic. Nah, they never said that directly, but it's what they meant. Ramsay wasn't stupid. Far opposite that. He was a fucking genius. Numbers. Numbers were his thing. Everything could make sense if he looked at it through numbers.

"Your therapist called me today." Damon said, watching Ramsay from the corner of his eye.

"Fuck that old ass bitch." Ramsay said bitterly, clenching his jaw.

"You know, if you would just..." Damon began.

'Don't you tell me what to fucking do!" Ramsay hissed.

Damon sighed, saying no more.

Today Ramsay had stormed out of the therapists office after threatening her. She was trying too hard to pry into him. It annoyed him. So what if he was mentally fucked? He was happy. Chaotically happy, maybe. But happy just the same. 

He had been diagnosed with multiple behavior disorders as a kid, and it wasn't until he was 18 that he was finally diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. But it went so much deeper than that as he was shunted between therapists. ASPD. Then it was Borderline. Then histrionic. Then narcissistic. Then Paranoid. Then Dependent. Depression. And of course the alcoholism. But he didn't care. It made absolutely no difference what kind of alcoholic psycho they called him. He wasn't going attempt to change it. There was no need. He was fine.

At least, that's what had been telling himself since he was five. Since the first time his father had beat him in a drunken fit.

Ramsay clenched his jaw and cleared his throat, lighting a cigarette.

"What we doing for Halloween, guy?" Damon asked, lighting his own cigarette.

"Dunno. Haven't thought on it. Haven't had time to think about anything, honestly. Have court that day. Maybe I can finally quit going to the fucking head shrink." Ramsay said, remembering he had to be at the courthouse at 09:00 on the 31st.

"Did Alyn tell you?" 

"Tell me what?" Ramsay asked, glancing around the half empty parking lot of the bar.

"Wife left him." Damon said, climbing out of the car.

"Mm. What a shame." Ramsay said, not attempting to sound like he gave a fuck.

"Well, he's pretty down. So maybe we could do something wild on Halloween. Gives us a couple weeks to plan some shit." Damon said, pushing the door of the bar open.

Ramsay glanced around and eyes immediately fell on... _her._ He cleared his throat and looked away.

But it wasn't before Damon had noticed. He let a sly grin creep up his face, but said nothing as he found an empty table and sat with Ramsay.

"I'll get drinks, shall I?" He grinned at Ramsay, who waved him away dismissively. "Her name is (Y/n), by the way."

"Shut your whore mouth." Ramsay hissed, lighting another cigarette to have something to do with himself.

But he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

......................      


	2. Jealousy suits you like a tailored cut

Damon was talking, but Ramsay wasn't listening as he watched her laugh and joke with men at the counter.

He was surprised at himself for feeling jealous at these men. He'd like to hear them all scream and beg and apologize for talking to her.

But  _that_ man was going to die. Ramsay had already decided it as he watched the man take (Y/n)'s hand and talk her into a dance. He felt the heat creep up his neck and the fire burn in his chest as he watched her twirl on the dance floor.

She was his. She just didn't know it yet. He would be the last thing to ever cross her path before she ended up a bruised and broken floating body in the river.

"Yo, I'm talking to you." Damon said, following Ramsay's gaze.

Ramsay shook his head slightly and turned to look at Damon, "Sup?"

"Dude, just go talk to her. Give her your number. Easy. How many times have you done this?" Damon chuckled, watching Ramsay closely.

He noticed the flush in Ramsay's cheeks at his words and put on a smug grin. About damn time. Fuck.

"Not today." Ramsay hummed, watching (Y/n) return behind the bar and pour herself a shot. He gave a sweeping glance around the bar and saw the dancing man pull a coat on to leave.

He stood abruptly.

"Where you going?" Damon asked, watching Ramsay dig in his pockets.

"I'll be back." Ramsay said, following the man out.

The man had disappeared into the mist, but Ramsay found his drunk ass easy enough.

He grabbed the man from behind and dragged him to the alley. 

The man struggled and writhed under Ramsay's grip, but Ramsay's hold was too tight around the man's neck. He couldn't even pass noises as he gasped for air.

Ramsay released him, picked him up by the front of the shirt, and slammed his against the wall.

"That woman in there. You grabbed her ass when you were dancing with her." Ramsay growled.

"H-hey man. Look, if... if she's like your girl friend or something I'm sorry. I didn't know..." the man sputtered.

His fear annoyed Ramsay even more.

"You're damn right you're sorry, you fucking cunt." Ramsay hissed, digging in his pockets again for his knife. 

But he realized he didn't have it. It was still on the coffee table, next to the bottle of antidepressant pills he had picked up this afternoon. He may have hated going to the psych, but she prescribed all kinds of drugs. Drugs with value that he could sell.

He cast around, seeing an empty bottle. Well, it was better than nothing.

He kneed the man in the stomach and released him, where he collapsed to the ground with a groan.

Ramsay grabbed up the beer bottle and busted it against the wall until he had a decently sized piece of glass he could use to stab deep enough to cause slow, excruciating pain.

He glanced around to make sure no one around could see or hear.

He smirked, kneeling down beside his newest victim. He placed his palm against the man's throat, pushing down until the man couldn't breath and began to struggle. 

Ramsay struck hard, and furiously, feeling the anger burst. He made a few more hard thrusts with the glass into the man's side, pushing down harder and harder on his throat until he felt the man's life slide away.

Ramsay stood up straight, glancing down at the glass, trying to think what to do with it. He couldn't just throw it. He ran his eyes over the dead man, a triumphant glow blazing in his chest. The feeling of anger lifted. He felt light and.... well, he couldn't place the other feelings. 

"Fuck it." He smiled, kneeling down, cutting a deep X across the man's neck, and using the man's shirt to wipe the glass clean, before he wrapped his hand in the bottom of his own shirt; feeling awkward at the angle he had to kneel to take the glass in his wrapped hand bury it the dead man's gut until there was nothing left of it.

He stood up, staring at the dead body, trying to decide what to do with it. He should have planned a little better. This wasn't usually like him.

But, fuck it, right?

He turned on his heel to go fund Damon and dispose of this stupid fuck. He slipped into the bar and spotted Damon, chatting it up with some whore.

×××(y/n)×××

"Hey, when you goin' home?" 

"Dunno, Oly. I'm drowning in tips tonight. That guy I danced with, gave me fifty for a single dance. Maybe i should be a stripper." You said, pointing to your full, waist apron with a wide smile.

"Well, get out of here. Quit stealing my money." Oly quipped.

"Oh shut up. I've still got an hour." You said, glancing over the floor and seeing two guys in a corner near the exit bicker about something.

The shorter guy was talking animatedly with his hands, an arrogant smirk on his face.

"So, I heard you are quitting school?" Olyvar said, drying a glass and placing it under the counter.

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno. I'm pretty burnt out. And I can't really afford it anymore. Just too expensive and I don't like living paycheck to paycheck. Ya know? If I quit school and focus all my time and energy here I can make enough to live comfortably." You shrugged. "Going to finish this semester and then take the next off, and see how I feel after that."

"I understand. I'm happy with my little baby associate's. At least I got something, ya know? Did I tell you, my mom tried to get a hold of me?" Olyvar said, leaning against the counter, watching the nearby patrons.

"Uh, no guy. You did not." You said, turning to a man at the counter who asked for a dozen jello shots.

"Yeah. She was all like, Oly, you know your father and I love you, even if we don't agree with your life choices." Olyvar laughed, almost bitterly you noted.

You placed a tray on the table and reached for the tiny refrigerator under the counter, stooping down to grab up 12 jello shots. You placed them on the tray and took the cash, "And what did you say?"

"I said, 'well mom, is that what dad said'? And she just kinda gave me this sad look. And I was like, fuck it. If you guys can't accept me for who I am, then why bother coming around?" Olyvar said, pulling a towel from his shoulder to wipe spilled alcohol off the counter.

"I'm sorry, Oly. What are you working this week? I haven't looked at the schedule." You said, hoping to drive the subject away from parents before he asked you about yours.

It wasn't that you didn't love your parents. Complete opposite. You loved them. But it had been five years now since you had left home. You had only seen your parents a couple times in that time frame. But you just... you couldn't. You were out of that damn town, and you would never go back. It always felt like a stab in the heart when you thought about everything you had left behind. Your parents. Your best friends. Your little brother. All of the rumors that had sprung up after your hasty departure. 

You sighed, glancing around the bar.

"I'm with you all week. So, how about that guy who asked you to dance?" Olyvar said, watching you closely.

"I dunno where he went. Musta left. He was nice though. Kinda cute. And he was a good dancer. He didn't step on my feet. Maybe I'll flirt it up with him if he comes back." You grinned.

"When's the last time you had sex?" Olyvar asked, mixing up shots for a group of people in front of him.

"I can't remember honestly. I don't have time. I'm either here, or doing homework." You shrugged, grabbing the empty lemon tray to cut up more.

"Oh whatever. You need to have a wild night of sex. You look miserable, and I'm tired of you looking so down." Olyvar said, rinsing out the empty tumbler.

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna let just anyone in my pants. I'm tired of being picked up by drunks. I'd like a serious, casual relationship." You said, taking a lemon and pouring a shot of tequila.

"Serious casual. Does that even make sense?" Olyvar laughed.

You slammed the empty glass down on the counter, making a face as you bit into the lemon, and shrugged.

"Maybe not. But that's what I want. So I will be lonely, until someone gets me on that level." You said, dropping the lemon in the trash.

"So, forever then." Olyvar chuckled, climbing up on the counter, "Hey guys! Who wants to take my lovely girl home tonight? She likes her hair pulled and hasn't had sex in weeks! She gets off in thirty!"

There were many hoots, jeers, and catcalls.

"OLY!" You said, pulling him down from the counter. "I'm not a whore! Don't advertise me as one!" You hissed, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, as you fumbled around in your apron for a cigarette. 

"Hon, you need a dick to sit on.  Find someone and come back looking happier tomorrow." Olyvar grinned at you.

You gave him a cold glare. "My hand works just fine, and doesn't smell like a bottle of Jim Beam." 

"Doesn't smell like a bottle of Jim Beam. Gold right there." Olyvar grinned.

"Hey baby, wanna dance?" A man asked, with a wolfish grin and a wink.

You had to admit, he was pretty cute.

"I'm nobody's baby." You said, giving him a glacial stare.

"You could be mine." He pressed, leaning closer to you over the counter.

"Not interested." You replied in a cross tone.

"Oh come on. You're a pretty little thing." He said, reaching out to take your hand.

You pulled your hand back, balled your fist, but relaxed it and slapped him instead.

Olyvar grabbed you before you could climb over the counter.

"Alright. You're throwing in the towel there, Ali. Go home." 

You pulled away from Olyvar and stormed to the back room, grabbing up your purse and keys.

You signed the clipboard to end your shift.

xxxRamsayxxx

With a grunt Ramsay and Damon pushed the dead body over the side of the bridge.

Neither said a word as they watched the body crash through the surface of the water.

"Well, I feel better. Let's go get stoned and eat cereal." Ramsay chuckled, walking back to Damon's car and sitting in the passengers seat.

"You are a crazy motherfucker. You know that?" Damon said, falling into his seat.

"You might have mentioned it to me a time or two." Ramsay chuckled, lighting a cigarette.

"Sooo..." Damon said, taking Ramsay's lighter to light his own cigarette.

"So what?" Ramsay hummed.

"(y/n). Whatcha think?" Damon said, watching Ramsay from the corner of his eye.

Ramsay cleared his throat. "Dunno. She doesn't look like a whore. Put the Boys on her tail. Make sure no one talks to her or touches her."

"Dude, you can't expect that. She can't just not talk to people because of some dude she doesn't even know exists." Damon said seriously.

"Do what I said, Damon. Or you will end up in the river with her." Ramsay said, taking a deep drag.

"You're going to kill her?" Damon asked with a deep frown.

"Possibly. Guess we will just have to see." Ramsay shrugged as if it were no more than talking about the weather.

Damon huffed, turning the radio up.

 

"What if she's as crazy as you are?" Damon asked, passing the joint to Ramsay.

Ramsay took a hit, holding it in as best he could, before giving into the coughing fit.

"There isn't anyone as crazy as me." He sighed, exhaling the smoke.

"There has to be. Everyone has that one person who challenges them. Ya know, in a good way." Damon said, running his tongue along his finger to stop the run in the joint.

"Well I doubt it would be her anyways." Ramsay said, standing from his seat. "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Have to go meet Dom in the morning at the bank." 

"Right on man. Catch ya sometime tomorrow. I'm going to crash right here." Damon hummed, setting the joint in the ashtray.

"Just pick up your mess." Ramsay said with a dismissive wave.

"Yessir." Damon nodded, relaxing into the couch and finger the remote closer to him.

 

Ramsay fell into bed, punching the pillow into a more comfortable position and staring up at the ceiling. What if Damon had a point? Was there a woman out there who could keep up with him? Someone to challenge him and love him through his psychotic mentality?

Little did he know, across town there was a woman who was also laying in her bed, wondering if there was anyone out there that was worth the trouble. Someone who wouldn't bore her. Someone who could give her the world and play along with all her dark ideas and wants.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay. Done now, until I get GFH wrapped up. But I couldn't just let this sit. Now that the table is set. ;)  
> You're welcome for the extended 'sneak peak' Lol
> 
> AND the actual chapters will be MUCH longer than these first 2. ;)


	3. 'Cuz this is THRILLER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the fans speak, Kee answers. Need to get at me? Tumblr @kee_writestrashh
> 
> https://youtu.be/r5xgzRoTmj4

×××Ramsay×××

”You’re late.” Roose said in his usual cool tone.

Ramsay frowned, but placed his jacket over the back of the chair and sat, rolling up his sleeves a little. For the end of October the days were still unseasonably warm. He pulled at his tie a bit and relaxed into the handsome leather chair before speaking. “Apologies, father. Traffic was a disaster. There was a wreck apparently.”

”Never mind that now. We have business to discuss.” Roose said curtly, setting his pen down and pushing the papers he was signing away from him.

”Yes, yes. Numbers. Everything is in working order. Why can’t I work here? Do you have any idea how much I hate the bank?” Ramsay said, words tumbling slightly.

”I have told you. I don’t trust anyone with our money but us. I need you at the bank to make sure everything is taken care of.” 

Ramsay sighed, feeling ruffled. He could still do the same work by working here in the family company. Domeric did. “Yes but—“

”There are no buts Ramsay.” Roose cut across him. His voice never raised, but there was a finality in his tone to not be challenged.

Ramsay tutted, turning his eyes to the window to avoid looking at his father. Always being reprimanded like some child. It stung. Never as good as perfect little Domeric. Fucking prick. “Well, all accounts are accounted for. However, it has come to my attention that account c-one ten has made no change in two months.”

Roose considered his son in a few moments silence before nodding. “Take care of it.”

Ramsay turned his eyes back to his father and raised a brow. “How?”

”Any way you see fit.”

Ramsay cracked a wide, maliciously insane smile. “And the losses?”

”Will be picked up and added elsewhere.”

Ramsay nodded, still wearing his manic grin. “If that is all then... It’s Halloween. I have a fun night planned.”

”Then you will call your brother from the city jail and not me.” Roose said dismissively, picking up his pen again and turning back to the papers before him.

×××(y/n)×××

"Your skirt could be just a bit shorter." Olyvar said, bumping you out of the way of the mirror with his bony hip, to finish his zombie make up.

"Probably. But, I'd rather not be molested by ghosts and ghouls tonight." You chuckled, placing your fox ears on.

"Fair." Olyvar nodded. "You know, I was thinking... Maybe throwing you a big party. Kinda like a twenty first birthday, friendiversary kind of thing. I mean, you've been here three years now, and I couldn't imagine a more fun coworker than you."

You turned to Olyvar and beamed, "You don't have to do that. It's not a big deal. Just hanging out with you is enough of a party."

"Well, yes, but..." Olyvar shrugged. "Are we ready to have a monster mash?"

"Only if it's a graveyard smash." You winked with a giggle and leaving the bathroom of your apartment.

There was something about this little bar that you loved. Maybe it was the sense of freedom it brought you after your abrupt leave from home and never looking back. It was a fresh start, and at 18 when you had taken the job, you couldn't have been anymore grateful. You also loved the people who came in. Regardless of status or occupation, they were all here to have a good time, and you would make sure to deliver. You and Olyvar were a seamless team, and the Old Man, as you called your boss, well, he made sure to pay you both well for the fantastic job you both did in keeping the place well beyond the 'up to scratch' mark.  

The costumes filling up the bar were grand. Some well thought out, others made you giggle. You stood behind the bar, filling orders, exchanging cash, and reminding people to enter the costume contest. The music upbeat, and Halloween classics in between dances. It was probably your favorite holiday at the bar. Sure, Christmas was fun, but all in all, watching people get hammered in naughty nurse and Pyramid Head costumes was the highlight of the year.

xxx(Ramsay)xxx

"Oh cheer up. She was a whore, and you knew that in high school." Ramsay tutted, adjusting one of his cufflinks and smoothing out his tie. 

Alyn looked over the top of his glass and frowned at Ramsay, "Okay, yeah sure. But Skinner?"

Ramsay shrugged, "He has class. And he's a lawyer, and he lives in the land of always sunny and warm. Get over yourself. Just fuck half the bitches that show up on your Tinder and call it even. Now come on, we have fun shit to do."

"Like?"

"Well, we have a insufficient funds account to dispose of, and then we are going to get hammered. Ben and Damon should have the _account_ moved by now." Ramsay said, placing his fedora jauntily atop his head and giving a haughty sniff.

Alyn sighed and gave Ramsay a look over, "Capone?"

"Mhm." Ramsay hummed, lighting a cigarette, nudging Alyn's foot with a wingtipped shoe and making his way to the door. "I've been dying for an excuse to use a Tommy, and what better way to do it than on Halloween, masquerading as Al Capone?"

"Fair." Alyn said, finally standing from the couch and following Ramsay out the door.

It was a quick drive across town. The sun had just started to set and children were beginning to emerge in their Batman and Elsa costumes. Something about Halloween made Ramsay giddy and animated. Maybe it was the mix of candies and alcohol. The fact that he could wear blood on him in public, and no one would think twice about it. Or just simply for the fact that mentally, as smart as he was, Ramsay was often childlike in his actions. 

He and Alyn got out of the car behind an old warehouse the Boltons kept for tax purposes. They no longer stored manufactured goods here, but it still brought a tax break. And it was a secure place that Roose had allotted for Ramsay to 'take out the trash' when it involved family business means. Though, Ramsay was left on his own when he was to play his games for his own leisure purposes. Business only. And tonight it was business before party.

They entered the building to find Damon and Ben already set up. More or less. Damon and Ben sat at a small table in the corner, playing cards, waiting on Ramsay to show up and take care of the man they had gagged and bound to a chair. Alyn wandered over to take a seat with Damon and Ben, who didn't even bother to give a look at who had entered. All of this was like walking through motions. They Boys knew what to expect, and so they just let their boss get on with it.

Ramsay crossed to the man in the chair, kneeling down before his victim and cracked a wide, manic grin. He took in the beads of sweat forming in the man's hairline and popping eyes. He already smelt like piss and regret. Perhaps this wouldn't be as fun as he had anticipated, maybe he should just gut the fucker and go drown in a bottle of whiskey. "I suppose you know why you're here?" He said sweetly to the man.

At once the man tried to shift in his seat and speak out. The gag obscured his words however, and that seemed to send him into a heavier panic. Tugging harder at the cuffs on his hands and feet. Squirming this way and that at the rope around his chest. Eyes now bulging with fear when Ramsay pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped the blade open. He could hear the panicked breathing as he placed the knife to the man's cheek.

"You haven't paid anything in two months. That's not how it works. Not a fucking charity here. And judging by your shoes, you aren't a charity fucking case. Two hundred dollars a week for six months really wasn't a bad idea. And now a little girl is going to be without a father. Her mother already a drunk. And no daddy there to stand between the two. Sad time's we're living in, pal. But you did do it to yourself." Ramsay sneered, pressing the blade into the man's cheek. The man made more aggressive movements and more muffled pleading, but Ramsay had already grown bored.

"Dame, come hold his head. I wasn't a clear throat here." Ramsay snapped, glancing over at the Boys.

Damon jumped up from his seat and crossed the room quickly, taking the man's sweaty hair in his fingers and forcing his head up. It was a quick slice, spattering Ramsay in blood. He gave a satisfied smirk before wiping the blade off on his sleeve. He closed the blade and returned it to his pocket as he shook back the sleeve of his suit jacket and checked the time. "We have...?"

"A wood chipper out back." Ben said, tossing cards down and turning to look at Ramsay.

"Oh goodie." Ramsay chuckled, looking down at the bleeding out mess before him. "Well first, one of you get the Tommy. I've been itching to shoot it. And then we will dump him in the chipper, and drinks are on me all night."

"Where we going?" Damon asked, wiping his hands off on his pants.

"That one place." Ramsay said, waving a careless hand.

"Ah. Gonna make eyes at the chick behind the counter, but still not talk to her, huh?" Damon chuckled, giving Ramsay a wink.

Ramsay snorted, "Yeah, something like that." He nodded. How the girl had been plaguing his mind for days on end now, and he wasn't sure why. He usually didn't obsess over people. He was materialistic. He didn't form attachment. Not to anyone other than Damon, who had been his friend for the last twenty years. But something about the woman, (Y/N) Damon had said, had caught his attention and refused to let go. Like some kind of invisible bond that neither were aware of. But he was going to change that.  

\---

"Oh my goodness, go turn the AC up or something. I'm fucking melting over here." You said when Olyvar passed you. 

It was only 10 pm and you were so ready to go home. Slinging drinks was turning into a sloppy mess, thanks to those who were overly intoxicated. Your eyes continuously falling on a group of men in the back corner who were laughing and carrying on. Chicks here and there stopping to pay them attention, and occasionally flash their tits that were already falling out of their tops. You noticed that two of them were guys from a few nights ago that had caught your attention then too. Olyvar commented on this many times.

"Just go talk to them, bring them refills or something." He coaxed many times. 

However, you had declined each time. Your face flushing every time you even caught the profile of the shortest one of the group. His dark hair, hauntingly blue eyes, and that wicked smirk. His costume was your favorite by far. Because it was more realistic than most you had seen throughout the night. You shook your head, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and pulling your eyes away from the loud group. One idiot, lively and animated, climbing up on the table and telling some wild story that only bits and pieces you could make out over the other patrons talk and laughter, and loud music from all around.

You had kept yourself busy by filling more drinks, cutting people off, and calling cabs for those that were too drunk to make the call themselves. 

Turning when you felt the presence of a customer behind you, you felt your cheeks redden and air leave your lungs. He was even cuter up close, and he knew it. His bold grin told you so.

"Shot of Jack." He said, looking past you.

"Sure thing." You said almost breathlessly, grabbing a shot glass and the bottle behind you.

As you slid the glass across the counter he brushed your hand with his. He glanced up and looked at you.

And is was as if the world had fallen away. You could have sworn he drew a sharp breath as your heart skipped many beats. Your face warmed and you looked away quickly, pulling your hand back awkwardly.

He threw back the shot, set the glass down gently, and slid a crisp $100 across the counter.

"Keep the change, doll." He hummed, standing from the stool and sliding an old receipt toward you as well.

You opened your mouth to speak but he had already walked away, and was heading out of the bar with the group of men he had come in with.

You took the money and the receipt. It had a number written on it. As if in a hurry.

 

You fell into the seat of your car and pulled your phone out.

_[You: you gave me your number but didn't leave a name.]_

You stared down at your phone, wondering if he would...

_[unknown: let me take you out on a date Wednesday night and I'll give you a name. Goodnight, doll.]_

_[You: deal. Goodnight, mysterious nobody.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note here, because I need YOUR feedback. I have started this fic, as well as the semi-introduction for Guns for Hire: Reloading. So my question is, would you all rather THIS fic be finished first, or for me to finish GfH2, before coming back to the very beginning of the wild ride, seeing as I started in the middle? (Not one of my better ideas, but I never imagined GfH to evolve the way it did or get as many outstanding comments and feedback as it did). Drop me a comment on here or shoot me a message on tumblr. -kee.


	4. And so the story begins...

"You're late." Domeric said, looking up from his paperwork when Ramsay entered the office.

"Pft," Ramsay huffed with a haughty sniff. "And the problem is? I had shit to do."

Domeric set his pen down and examined his younger brother for a moment as he sat across the desk from him. Something seemed to have his feathers ruffled. Not that it took too much to get under Ramsay's skin, even if he wouldn't admit it. "Everything alright?"

Ramsay shot a cold glare at Domeric but his usual smirk cropped up soon after. "Of course. Everything is always alright."

"How'd court go? I haven't seen you since then." Domeric said slowly, as if choosing the words carefully.

Ramsay gave a shrug, "Dropped the assault charges. I'm sure father had something to do with it. But I was assigned six more weeks of anger management bullshit, and they added another day of therapy. So instead of seeing that old bitch once a week, I get to see her two times a week. _Woooo_." He added the last part in bitter sarcasm with an eye roll.

Domeric nodded a couple times before looking back at his paperwork. "I asked you to come by because I seem to be missing something. Father says that upon running final numbers last week for the last three months, it would seem that four of our larger shipments seemingly disappeared. I don't understand?"

"You and me both. I brought it up to father the first time it happened. It's hurting sales because guns keep going missing. Father said he'd look into the matter, but never said anything else to me." Ramsay said, idly biting a nail and leaning back in his seat.

Domeric frowned at the paper on his desk and gave a sigh. 

"That's really all you wanted?" Ramsay asked, raising a brow and feeling irritable with his older brother. "You wasted my time to come into the office on my day off to talk about ghost ships? You could have fucking text me."

"Yeah... I guess." Domeric shrugged, tearing his pale eyes from the paper and looking back at Ramsay. "Sorry. I just thought maybe you knew more about it. If father already knew and you two had discussed it, why would he say anything to me?"

Ramsay gave a bewildered shrug and scrunched his face, "Fuck if I know how his mind works. Are we done here?"

"Yeah I guess. Since you seem in a hurry." 

"Good. Because I have a couple things to buy real quick like. If you need anything just... text me."

\----

"Think he'll actually show up to take me out?" You asked, looking over at Olyvar.

"He'd be a fool not to, dear." Olyvar hummed, wiping down a table top.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and the bar was closed, but Old Man Jones liked to have the bar wiped down and cleaned real good at least once a week.

"It's just a bit weird isn't it? I mean, he didn't even give me a name. What if he's like some serial rapist killer or some shit?" You sighed, walking into the back employee room to grab your things.

"Then don't go if you're worried about it. Make sure you have mace or something? I don't know what you want me to say (Y/N). You've been out of the game way too long." Olyvar said, following you and grabbing his coat.

You slid your coat on and pulled your keys from you pocket and gave a small shrug. "Yeah I guess. I'll text you and let you know how it goes!"

"Don't forget the condoms." Olyvar winked, slipping out the door.

"I'm not gonna fuck him!" You called after him, feeling your cheeks warm a bit. You shook your head slightly, exiting the building and locking the door behind you. Olyvar, he was so bold in everything he said. No shame. 

 

You reached the landing of your apartment and were slightly startled to find a dress bag and a box on the ground outside your door.

There was a note on the box. You stooped down and picked it up:

_For dinner tonight. I will meet you at front at 7:00 exactly. -R.B._

You gathered up the items, quickly unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind you. Your heart pounding in nerves and excitement as you made way to the tiny kitchen table you had. Okay, so it was more of a plastic party table, but it did it's job none the less. You set the note and box on the table, hanging up the dress bag on the handle of the freezer door of your refrigerator. You pulled the zipper and found a navy blue dress. It wasn't flashy, but it was still elegant. You removed the dress from the bag and held it to your front. The top dipped a little dangerously, but the length was respectable at it's mid thigh. At least you wouldn't be showing your ass.

Draping the dress over your arm you turned your attention to the box and removed the lid. A pair of strappy black high heels. The kind you would sometimes look at when you passed by shop windows, but knew you could never really afford. It made your jaw drop slightly. Your mysterious no name had left expensive gifts for you to wear on a date with him, and he had done no more than give you the initials R.B.

It somehow made you excited for the date all over again. You were now overly curious of this mystery man, and curiosity killed the cat. You had to know who he was. You had to know what his interest in you was. Why you?

So you spent the remainder of the afternoon getting ready for the date. Makeup, hair, the dress, and finally the heels. You turned from side to side to examine the dress as it clung to your body in all the right places. A last glance over of yourself in the mirror before finally prying your eyes away and checking the time. Five to seven. You took a deep breath, looking back at your reflection. The young woman staring back at you was not you. It felt like some first awkward meeting with someone in yourself you weren't aware was there until you put that dress on. Like some magic illusion. You took another deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Alright, (Y/N). You got this. It's just a date with a cute boy. That's all." You said to your reflection. If things go bad, they go bad. It wasn't that big of a deal, right? But he had provided you with your evening attire... _Probably just to get it off of me_. You thought with a falter to your smile, turning away from the mirror at last. You walked into the kitchen, grabbing your small clutch purse and sliding your phone inside. You made sure you had your keys and your wallet, tucked the clutch under your arm and stepped out of the apartment. 

You made your way down the stairs and stepped outside into the crisp night air. Winter was fast approaching now that November was here. The lobby door closed slowly behind you, as if sealing your doom. Your nerves starting to get the better of you as you glanced up and there he stood. It wasn't exactly what you had been expecting. Sure, the sharp dinner attire, but the car was not what you had expected. You assumed some Lexus or other business casual rich man car. Though you weren't exactly sure why, other than he had bought you expensive dinner clothing, which obviously meant he wasn't hurting for money. No, the car was a classic muscle car. An old Camaro, blacked out and shone like a black diamond under the street lights.

You snapped your eyes to him, taking him in. He was rather... okay, he was fucking hot. That was all you could think in the moment. Not very modest or ladylike, but it was what it was. He cleaned up nice, as opposed to his bloody get up from Halloween. But those blue eyes were still as bright and haunting, even without the fake blood to bring them out. His pale complexion in the dim light making them sparkle like forbidden pools in some enchanted garden.

Forbidden pools. Enchanted gardens. What was this? Some Prince Charming fairy tale? Get a grip on yourself (Y/N).

He flicked his cigarette away from him and pushed off the car he had been leaning on. Eyes glancing at the watch on his wrist before back to you.

"You look nice." He commented, opening the passenger's door for you.

"As do you." You said, unsure what to say and immediately deciding what you had said was probably stupid. But you said nothing to try and salvage the confidence you just botched rather stupidly. You took the invitation, sliding into the car, feeling your nerves scream as you walked past him. How nice he smelt. How being so close to him was... you really had been out of the dating game for too long. 

He closed the door and you glanced around the pristine leather and interior of the car as he slid into his seat. He gave you a sideways glance, watching you run your finger tips over the smooth, black dash.

"Sixty seven?" You asked, turning your eyes to him.

He gave a tiny smirk. "Yes. I rebuilt it myself. My first car." he nodded. "I'm impressed you knew what she was."

"My dad. He's a muscle car fanatic. Anyways, enough about what I know. You seem to know quite a lot. Like where I live. What size dress I wear. What size shoes I wear." You said, cutting straight to the point.

He gave a chuckle and a innocent shrug. "I make it my business to know people, doll."

"Well, mister-make-it-your-business-to-know-people, it is Wednesday, I am at your mercy on the way to a date I agreed to. I believe you owe me a name." You said, raising a brow.

"Yes. I do. You can call me Ramsay." He nodded, his coy smirk still in place.

Ramsay. That was a rather odd kind of first name. "With an E or an A?"

"A." He said almost at once, in a defensive sort of way.

"And is there a last name to go with it, Ramsay with an A?" 

"Bolton."

"Bolton." You repeated slowly. You knew that name... but where did you know it? And then it hit you. It all suddenly made sense. The money and fancy getup. You gave a tiny gasp of comprehension. "Like the gun company?"

"That's the one." He nodded again. "My father is Roose Bolton." 

You gaped at him, as if waiting for someone to jump out and scream 'April Fools!' This was all some joke. There's no way someone like him would ever be caught dead with some lowly bartender in school to be a cop. Ramsay seemed to know what you were thinking because he shifted in his seat at the red light and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, handing it to you. Cautiously you took it and opened it. And there, plain as day was his face and name. Ramsay Bolton. 

 

Dinner passed pleasantly. The restaurant was nice. beyond nice in your opinion. The food was perfect, the wine was perfect, and your date seemed to be the cat's fucking meow. He was funny. His dry sense of humor made you giggle. He was very charming in your opinion. He seemed to know all the right words to say to keep you talking and gushing about yourself. If he kept it up, and the seemingly bottomless wine glass stayed in front of you, Ramsay was likely to know your deepest darkest secrets before you walked out of this place. 

You spoke about coming to the city, finding the job at the bar, starting college, your life in the city so far. But you avoided the topic of where you came from. Your family. It was still too soon to admit to yourself that you were in the wrong about how things had went. But you had been 18 and 18 was a stupid age, no one could really fault you, right? But he didn't press for any information. He didn't seem too inclined to talk about his own beginnings either. You did manage to pluck up the courage and ask him why you were here with him on a date when some arm candy, made up, upper east side bitch could be here with him instead.

"They're boring." He said simply with a small shrug. "You're different." He added as an afterthought, helping you from your seat. Your legs a bit unsteady as the wine finally all hit you.

You grabbed on to his arm, regaining your footing. Cheeks burning to find yourself so close to him. His eyes held yours for what felt like a lifetime. As if he could see into your soul right through your eyes. And maybe you imagined it in your overly tipsy state. Maybe you wanted to find something wrong with Wonder Boy. But you could have sworn you saw a dark shadow cross those startling blue eyes.

But the next thing you knew was he was helping you up the stairs to your apartment, and fitting your key in the lock after you had managed to drop the key ring about seven times. Through the door and you were too drunk to care that your tiny flat was drab and mostly empty. You were hardly ever here save to sleep, shower, and study. Most of your days were spent at school or at the bar. Usually the bar. You didn't care if he turned up his nose at your 'poorness'. You were clean at least. You tossed away your clutch and clumsily stepped out of the heels as Ramsay took in every inch of the living room. The TV. The couch. The coffee table covered in textbooks and your laptop. 

"You're free next Wednesday?" He asked, turning those cold eyes to you.

"Does this mean I get a second date and more wine that costs more than my life?" You quipped with a small giggle.

"Yeah, I think so." He replied with a half grin. "You'll be okay then?" He asked before turning to the door and opening it.

You felt a small twinge of hurt as he opened the door. You had fully expected at least some awkward kiss or passing innuendo. Some kind of outwardly sexual suggestion. And you would have invited it gladly, even if you had told Oly you weren't going to do that. Be that girl. It was the 21st century. Men didn't see women safely back to their apartments and just leave. There was no modesty in this city. No modesty past the age of 20. No chivalry and charm simply for the sake of it. But, he wasn't forcing himself on you. Had given no small suggestion to get you out of that dress. His eyes hadn't even lingered too long on your overly exposed cleavage during dinner.

You gave a small smile. "I'll be just fine."

"Goodnight then, doll." He said and gave a nod, letting his eyes look you over one last time, and just like that he was gone.

What a charmer. Maybe you should have know it was an elaborate trap. Even if you had yet to kiss him... you were all his. He knew it. If only you had seen it then too. 


End file.
